


Raised You From Perdition

by masquerade97



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, i am once again writing a destiel finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masquerade97/pseuds/masquerade97
Summary: in which Dean goes to get Cas from the empty
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	Raised You From Perdition

2008

Castiel had never been to hell before. He had studied the layout in the leadup to the mission, but he’d never seen it himself. Still, the concept was simple: souls were tortured until they were tainted and had lost the spark of humanity that made them souls, at which point they became demons. 

Simple.

The mission was uncomplicated. Castiel and his garrison were to infiltrate hell, locate the righteous man, and return him to earth. They knew where the weak points were. They knew how to fight demons. And once the righteous man was delivered from hell, they knew that the next mission would be averting the apocalypse.

Castiel knew what to expect. He knew how hell worked. 

It was still only his training that kept him moving when the garrison broke through the perimeter and they were greeted by rows of souls on racks. Demons had been fighting back against the garrison as the angels navigated to the dungeons, but down here there were even more; the demons who would normally be doling out torture turned instead to fight against the intruders. But it wasn’t the demonic army that had Castiel’s step faltering - the souls on the racks, even as their tormentors were distracted, screamed in pain.

Castiel fought, as he’d been trained. He forced himself to ignore the souls on the racks, even as the fighting inevitably forced him to harm them as well. It pained him to do so, but he couldn’t think of that. He was a soldier. He had the mission to focus on. These were the souls of the damned. There was only one that was destined to make it out intact.

There wasn’t much light in the dungeons. The souls were dimming, some of them even as the angels and demons fought. Where they would normally be bright and shining, some looked on the brink of being snuffed out completely. There was a flash periodically, when an angel or demon died. Any other light in the dungeon came from the angels’ grace, throwing ghoulish shadows against the walls, even as the smoke of the demons’ forms threatened to overwhelm the blue light. 

Time didn’t mean anything in hell, but even so, Castiel knew they’d been at it far longer than they should have been. But there were so many souls. He’d asked how they’d know which soul belonged to the righteous man, but Zachariah had scoffed at him, as if the question hadn’t needed to be asked, and if it had, the answer should be so obvious as to not warrant an answer. Had Castiel been human, he might have felt slighted. But he simply accepted that the answer would present itself to him when the time came; there was no need to dwell on it if the explanation was not immediately necessary. 

And the answer did become clear. As they fought their way deeper into the pits of hell, there was a bright light, blinding and almost blue in its brilliance. It was a soul as bright as it must have been on the day it was created, despite the fact that here, it wasn’t on a rack, but aligned with the demons and armed with their instruments of torture. 

Castiel reached it first, fending off demons with every trick he’d ever learned and several he’d improvised. The other angels kept the demons at bay as Castiel reached out for the soul, clutched it tight to himself, wrapped his wings around them both as shields, and rocketed toward the ceiling high above them. 

Castiel had seen souls of course, in heaven. They were brilliant things, and every one of them rang out with chords that Castiel had always thought to be more beautiful than the pealing notes the angels’ graces gave off. It was a small thing, nothing more than a passing curiosity, for Castiel to listen as he passed through heaven. 

But he’d never touched a soul before, not in this state. The angels weren’t to disturb the souls in heaven, and the souls on earth were living and breathing in their bodies and difficult to access. So as Castiel cradled this soul in his arms, he was overwhelmed by what he heard. It sang, as they all did, but Castiel could feel what made it sing. He felt joy and anger and sadness and envy and giddiness and contentment and _love_ . He’d known the names of these things, but there was nothing that could have prepared him for the intensity of them, the _depth_ of emotion. There was pain there, and a deep sense of longing. Pride and ambition and duty and humility. Loyalty and rebellion. And suddenly it was no wonder to Castiel why the souls sang such beautiful chords; anything that could hold this _much_ , that could so easily contradict itself and not lose itself, what else could it do but sing as many notes as it did? 

Castiel was not built to feel such things. Each new feeling was overwhelming, and yet Castiel couldn’t bring himself to let go, even as he rebuilt the righteous man’s body around his soul. Castiel couldn’t help himself, and even as he tried to focus on what he needed to do, on completing his mission and returning to heaven, he found he held on too long as he finished his work, and his hand burned the righteous man’s arm, leaving a hand print that Castiel didn’t have time to fix, for the righteous man was waking up, and Castiel didn’t have a vessel. 

As he left the grave, still reeling from what he had felt, Castiel called out to the other angels, something a little like glee still trailing its way through his grace. 

_Dean Winchester is saved._

* * *

2020

“But what if you don’t make it back?”

“Then I don’t make it back.”

Dean’s jaw was set. He was reading over the incantations again, once again committing them to memory, despite the fact he’d memorized them hours ago. He had a hand in his pocket, feeling that he should have some kind of weapon on him. There was no reason to think he’d need one, but he thought he might feel more grounded if he did. 

“What did he say to you?” Sam had asked the question when Cas had gone to the empty, but Dean hadn’t given him an answer. And then with everything that followed - with defeating Chuck and getting Eileen back - there hadn’t been time for an actual discussion.

Dean didn’t want to say. It felt too personal, like something that should only be between him and Cas. But at this point, the point of no return, when Dean was half sure he wouldn’t be coming back from this one, he figured Sam deserved some kind of explanation. 

“He told me he loves me.”

Silence followed. Dean didn’t lift his eyes from the neat uppercase letters, despite the fact that they were swimming on the page in front of him. 

“What did you say to him?”

Dean finally looked up, not bothering to wipe at the tears that spilled when he did so. “I didn’t have a chance.”

“Oh.”

More silence. 

“I have to get him back Sammy.” Dean’s voice was quiet when he spoke. This was his last chance, he knew - either he went to the empty and dragged Cas back, or he went to the empty and died there. 

Sam rounded the table and wrapped Dean in a bear hug. “I understand,” he said. 

Jack and Eileen entered with the last of the ingredients they needed for the spell. They set their possessions down on the table by the incantation, not wanting to interrupt.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dean finally said, but his voice was soft, lacking any actual edge. He pushed Sam away from him and managed a small smile. 

While Sam prepared the mixture - he really had developed a knack for it since working with Rowena - Dean said his good-byes to Jack and Eileen. He’d never been good at that part, and he did like to think he’d be coming back with Cas in tow, but he figured he might as well cover all his bases, just in case. 

“Ready?”

He wasn’t, but he nodded anyway. Now or never.

He recited the first incantation and dropped a match into the mixture. Immediately, he felt a surge of power through his limbs, and then he felt like he was sucked into a vacuum. 

Dean had never had much trouble telling where he was, once he got the hang of things. Earth felt like earth - it was chaotic and loud and soft and normal. Hell felt heavy, like someone breathing down your neck and something creeping in the shadows, ready to strike. Heaven felt clean and safe and almost sterile. Purgatory felt like a wilder earth, like everything about home had been cranked up to eleven, and consequences were quick and meaningless. 

The empty didn’t feel like any of those. It didn’t feel like anything. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to touch. Dean looked down at himself, just to make sure he was real, and he found that he seemed to be almost… glowing. He was reminded of how Cas glowed from the inside out when he really cut loose with his powers, and for a moment he was lost in some memory.

Cas. Cas was _here_.

He just had to find him.

Only problem was, he had no idea how to start looking. 

Of all the places he’d been, the empty certainly wasn’t one of them. All he knew was that this was where angels and demons went when they died, but that was all, and it was pretty nonspecific at that. There weren’t any doors to go through, no halls to go down, no horizon to aim for.

Tentatively, Dean took a step forward, his eyes open and searching for any sign of Cas. Any sign of _anything._ His foot landed on something solid, but whether it was floor or ground or only the concept of such a thing, he couldn’t be sure. He took another step forward. He thought he heard something in the distance, but he accepted that it might only be his mind playing tricks on him.

“Cas?” he asked the void.

The void didn’t respond. 

Another step then. And another. He called out again. There was still no answer, so he kept calling. Every few steps. He prayed, as if Cas might be able to hear him that way instead.

The spell they’d used was a modified version of one Rowena had known well, but Sam had warned that that meant it might have a time limit. Not that a time limit meant much here; Dean couldn’t be sure how much time had passed at all, or if it was different than the amount of time that had passed at home. 

“Cas, can you hear me?” There still wasn’t an answer, but something about the stillness around him did seem to change. It was probably his imagination, but he decided to keep talking anyway. “Cas, you know you aren’t supposed to spring that kinda thing on a guy if you aren’t gonna stick around, right? You’re supposed to confess your love for someone and then give them a chance to react.” Dean took a steadying breath; if he stumbled over that last sentence, well, it’s not like anyone was listening anyway, right? He kept wandering. He kept rambling. “How long were you sitting on that anyway? How many times were we alone for a drive, or a movie, or a case, and you could have said something and let me answer you?” Okay, so he was definitely stumbling over his words at this point. He told himself it was because he was wandering through a void and his instincts were on high-alert for some kind of threat, and not because he was definitely thinking about the answers to his own questions - about how many times he might have had something to say to Cas if he’d only been a little braver. “It’s a lot, Cas. There were a lot of times.” Why the _hell_ wasn’t he getting anywhere here? “Dammit Cas, where are you?”

Something was definitely different about the emptiness around him now. Dean had thought it might just be the silence getting to him, but he was sure. There was something, just out of sight. Just out of reach.

“Cas, this would be a lot easier if you would just follow the sound of my voice,” Dean said, a little steadier. “It’s not like there’s any other sound here.”

“Dean?”

Dean froze. The voice was soft, though he couldn’t tell if it was distance or some other reason. But it _was_ to his right, that much was certain, even with the slight echo. He turned that way and stepped off, a little more purpose in his stride. “Nice of you to speak up, Cas. If you could do it again-” Dean broke off, suddenly face-to-face with Cas, who was lit up in the soft glow Dean had forgotten he was giving off. It made Cas’ eyes glow blue, as if he still had all his angelic power behind them. Dean wanted to make some kind of quip, but anything he might have said died on his tongue.

Cas was standing with his arms at his sides, his expression one of confusion and hope and caution and what looked like genuine _awe_. “Dean?” he asked again.

“Didn’t think I’d just leave you here, did you?” Dean tried to make it an offhand comment, he really did, but it came out far too soft for that. 

“I…” Cas didn’t seem to have any words. He reached out tentatively and touched Dean’s shoulder, where the hand print was covered by Dean’s clothes. 

“I’m real, Cas,” Dean said. He covered Cas’ hand with his own, and tried not to let Cas’ expression tie his heart in knots. “And I’m here to take you home.”

Cas’ expression tightened. He looked like a man overwhelmed. His eyes welled with tears, and one spilled down each cheek. He tried to say something, but no words came out. 

“What’s the matter?” Dean asked, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. He studied Cas’ face, trying to parse those features he’d learned so well. He removed his hand from Cas’, reached out with both hands and cradled Cas’ face as he’d wanted to do the last time they spoke. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

Cas leaned into Dean’s touch, his expression strained. He looked like he was struggling to stay present, and Dean was afraid the empty was about to take him away again. Cas tried to say something else, but no sound came. It looked like he had tried to say _I don’t-_ or _I can’t-_ , but Dean knew that was bullshit; what had he come for if not to bring Cas back? There was no _don’t_ or _can’t_ about this. 

But Cas looked like he was fading. His whole body seemed to flicker, and Dean hoped it was just his imagination. Cas reached up and grabbed Dean’s arms like a drowning man on a life preserver, his grip as solid as ever.

“Cas, I’m not leaving you here,” Dean said, forcing down his growing panic. Cas looked more solid when he spoke, so the only thing he could think to do was continue. “I won’t leave you here because we never finished that conversation.” Those blue eyes were glowing back at him, and Dean did his level best to keep his voice even. “You can’t just say you love someone and then vanish. You’re supposed to give them a chance to answer you. And dammit Cas, I have something to say to you.”

“Dean,” Cas managed, his voice still that soft echo. His grip tightened, and he looked afraid, though Dean couldn’t figure out the cause.

“You said you cared about the whole world, because of me.” Dean was losing his fight against the panic in his chest. “Well I cared about myself because I cared about you. I cared about making it to tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that. I always knew I was gonna die bloody - go down swinging - but I didn’t want to anymore. I wanted to finish the mission and I wanted something else, because of you.” He didn’t care now that his words were shaking, because he felt like he was holding Cas up, despite Cas’ iron grip and unwavering gaze. “I love you, Cas.”

Cas was almost crying in earnest, and Dean thought he might be too, but Cas was a little more solid, even as he seemed to flicker again. “I-” Cas’ voice stuttered out, but he smiled as wide as Dean had ever seen.

“Anything, Cas. Anything.”

Cas’ voice wasn’t obeying him, but he reached out with one hand, traced Dean’s cheek with a feather-light touch.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen so many emotions fight their way across Cas’ face before. He felt Cas’ hand start to slip and he reached up and took it, squeezing it tight. Cas flickered again, and Dean couldn’t stand it anymore; if this was his only chance, then he was going to take it. He leaned forward, pulled Cas toward him, and kissed him like he’d wanted to for so long.

There was a terrifying moment of stillness, where Cas might have disappeared entirely, and then he felt solid again. Dean felt Cas’ hands move to his neck and his waist, felt Cas’ mouth move against his. He took his now-free hand and wound it through Cas’ hair. He thought he could live in this moment forever and not think about where he was or what was going on around them or what was about to happen to Cas. 

After another moment, Cas’ mouth was gone, and Dean was so terrified to open his eyes that he at first didn’t even register that Cas was still solid against him and under his hands.

“Dean.”

Dean’s eyes flew open, his heart in his throat. That was not the echoing voice he’d heard before - that voice was solid and rich and gravelly and somewhat mystified. “Cas?”

Cas was staring back at him, bewildered. The hand he had on Dean’s waist moved to Dean’s back and held him tighter. “You came to get me.”

“I did.”

Cas swallowed. “You love me.”

“I do.” Dean studied Cas’ face, and the light reflected there. Only it wasn’t a reflection anymore; Cas was glowing as much as he ever had. 

“I was wrong.”

There were a lot of reactions Dean might have expected here, but that wasn’t one of them, especially since Cas seemed so damn _happy_. “Wrong about what?”

“Having is _much_ better than saying.”

Dean laughed. He couldn’t help himself. With all the nerves and the kiss and, yeah - having was a helluva lot better.

“I’d like to go home now.”

“Me too, Cas,” Dean said. Home. With Cas. Dean’s grin widened. He held tight to Cas’ lapels, refusing to consider the possibility that the spell had worn off.

He needn’t have worried. As soon as the incantation passed his lips, there was that familiar rush of power, a sense of free-fall, and then the comfortable atmosphere of the bunker’s library. 

Sam, Eileen, and Jack were unconscious in their seats around the room, presumably having fallen asleep there waiting for Dean to return. Dean felt relief wash over him when his vision adjusted to the light and he saw Cas still standing in front of him. 

“Made it,” Dean said quietly. He knew he should wake them, let them know everything had worked. But he couldn’t help wanting to put it off another few minutes.

“I love you, Dean.” 

Yeah, another few minutes won’t hurt anything. “I love you too, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> [i'm over here on tumblr if you're curious](http://titlecomingsoon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
